


Not Quite What You Wished For?

by purefoysgirl



Series: Put A Collar on that Pup [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Collars, D/s undertones, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, collar anxiety, collared will graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7532152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purefoysgirl/pseuds/purefoysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Will Graham makes the unwise statement that he wished he was a dog sometimes, Hannibal gifts him a locked box holding a collar, the key to which Will wears around his neck. The collar, however, is a different matter entirely and Will isn't quite sure he wants it. Hannibal is quite sure he does, all he needs is a little...motivation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Quite What You Wished For?

* * *

 

It bothered him, as Hannibal had known it would. Every morning when he woke up—the chain slick and heavy around his neck, Hannibal’s body a furnace of heat next to him—the first thing Will saw was that damned _box_. He took to glaring at it in odd moments when Hannibal was not around to catch him, his blue eyes tracing the contours of it, his heart rate kicking up at every little noise around him. Sometimes he thought he could smell the leather, sheened with oil and hand worked into supple softness. He wondered if Hannibal had special ordered it and figured he had, snob that he was. He wondered if Hannibal had measured him at some point for that inline lock to fit him, and laughed with resignation when he recalled the tailor taking measurements for his clothing.

“I’m not wearing that thing,” he assured himself, glowering at the innocuous box, his fingers on the tacked corners and his thumbs tracing idle patterns along the front. He pulled the shreds of his certainty around him, unable to prevent his vivid imagination from giving him very detailed circumstances that might rise up around this artful circle of leather.

“It isn’t an issue of ownership, Will,” Hannibal purred behind him when next he found himself in a staring contest with the box.

He refused to startle but Hannibal knew anyway. _Those_ kinds of secrets had been quickly brought to light in the first few weeks after their fall.

He transferred his glare from the box to the man who had gifted it to him, a frustrated frown on his full mouth.

“How is it _not_?” he asked, the key suddenly an extremely heavy weight around his neck. “Isn’t that what you’re wanting with...” he waved his hand at the box, unable to summon a proper word, and settled on, “ _This_?”

Hannibal cocked his head, no doubt amused that Will was deliberately blinding his empathy on this count, refusing to see it for what it was. “Why did you collar your dogs, Will?”

“Am I _dog_ to you, now, Hannibal?” Will snapped, his irritation rising like clouds banking for a thunderstorm.

“No, you are not, and answer my question.”

There was a distinct lack of nicety to that statement. No “please” in sight.

Will drew in a sharp breath and rubbed his hand over his freshly-shaven face, still startled to feel bare skin instead of scruff even if it was more comfortable in the heat.

“I put collars on them so they had their tags on them,” he said, his temper ebbing when he thought about his much-missed dogs. “So I could put them out on leads if I needed to keep them out of something, so I could get them to the vet when they were sick...”

“Which means what, exactly?” Hannibal asked, close enough that his heat added an extra sticky layer to Will’s own.

Will shook his head, searching for an explanation. “To _protect_ them, I guess?”

“To look after them,” Hannibal supplied for him, drawing his own conclusions. “To make sure you could do things for them that they might otherwise be unwilling to do or unable to understand.”

Will decided that Hannibal was a better target for his glare after all, going to the source and all.

“Don’t do that to me,” he tightly warned, firmly reminded that not all of their interactions were benign these days. As much as Hannibal was an extension of himself, each of them filling the cracks of the other to make one whole, they had their moments of outright friction and this was working up to be one of them.

Sensing it, attuned to Will’s moods as he always was, Hannibal plucked the key up with one hand and thread his fingers through the chain, drawing it tight against Will’s neck in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“There are ways to bear the weight, Will,” he murmured, his other hand lifting in a familiar gesture to cup Will’s cheek, tracing the long scar where the Dragon’s knife had bitten into him. “When we find them and use them, they don’t make us any less.”

Will closed his eyes and released a deep breath, his temper fading as quickly as it had come.

“We had one moment of absolute loss of control,” Hannibal reminded him, conjuring the terrifying but freeing sensation of their plunge before they’d crashed so painfully into the ocean. “There is no reason not to seek it again.”

Will opened his eyes, a wry smirk curving his mouth. With soft, mocking amusement, he asked, “Find any good cliffs lately?”

Hannibal chuckled and unwound his fingers from the necklace. The key lay on Will’s chest, warm from his hand and smelling faintly of Hannibal. He dropped a kiss on Will’s brow and stepped away from him, saying only, “It isn’t about ownership, Will. It’s about _trust_.”

 _Trust_.

He turned as Hannibal left their bedroom, his thoughts moiling.

 _Trust_ was a bygone conclusion between them now, with their sins left far behind them on eroding shores along with lives presumed to be lost. Trust had always been there between them, even in the moments of blood and death and hateful retaliation—but only to a point. Only to a point and no farther, because of that indomitable trust.

‘ _It isn’t about ownership, Will_ ,’ he’d said. Will understood it as he’d really intended, ‘ _Do you trust me, Will_?’

The answer to which was always and only, “Yes.”

He very stubbornly did _not_ open that damned box.

Hannibal got him again, perhaps incidental, but Will highly doubted it. As far as tacticians went, Hannibal was one of the best, and he waited until Will was molten and frustrated in the dark of their bed before he made his play.

“ _Damn_ it,” Will hissed, shuddering when Hannibal’s hand—lightly callused now from fishing line and gardening—abruptly ceased its milking of him and let his hard body slap back down onto his belly in a wet splatter of precum and lube. “Hannibal,” he warned, unsure what he was up to now. He had to admit, sex with Hannibal was anything but boring and always delightfully available, which wasn’t something Will had ever enjoyed, even in his marriage to Molly.

Hannibal just brushed his slick thumb over Will’s frenulum, a warning touch that made him catch his breath automatically and bite down hard on his lower lip when the pinch came, forcing down his flirtation with orgasm.

Will uttered a frustrated, sobbing laugh and flung his arm over his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself. His voice was only moderately unsteady when he said, “Hannibal, seriously—”

“I am always serious when it comes to you, Will,” Hannibal blandly said, holding the pinch until Will groaned, a light warning of pain.

“Then could you get serious when it comes to me coming? Hm?” Will asked, his voice raspy. “I— _holy fuck ouch_!”

Hannibal cut off his half-hearted complaint and turned it into reflexive, gasping laughter when he firmly stroked him four times in quick succession, just to make him arch up off of the bed in a frenzy of surprised sensation.

“Oh, God, you’re such a bastard!” Will moaned when he stopped again, hitching on a choked sob, aching for it so badly he might have even agreed to that fucking _collar_. “Hannibal...”

“You shouldn’t be so loud, Will,” Hannibal murmured, leaning close to purr it into his ear, a puff of heated breath that made his cock ache even harder. “The neighbors will hear you.”

“ _Screw the neighbors_!” he hissed, and immediately thought better of it, “Wait, no. Eat them, don’t screw them. No screwing allowed outside of the parties currently present in this bed.”

Hannibal laughed, a rumbling noise that accompanied another slow, calculated squeeze of his hand that brought Will to the tippy-toe edge of climax and held him there, tense and trembling and absolutely blissful.

“I am afraid that our relationship has been monogamous on my part long before you were actually a part of it,” Hannibal told him.

“Ah...” Will sighed, slumping against the bed when Hannibal showed no interest in actually finishing his suddenly teasing handjob. Nothing about _that_ had changed. One of Hannibal’s most predictable pleasures was winding Will up to see how far he could get him to go, which had translated to their sexlife almost seamlessly. In breathy, drowsy whisper, he said, “I’m _this close_ , Hannibal...”

“I know.” The reply was mild but he could hear the thread of excitement there. He’d made a study of Hannibal Lecter, after all.

The hand left him briefly, returned warm-slick and sudden so that a startled sob actually escaped him. His skin was getting hypersensitive and the weight in his belly was becoming uncomfortable. He shifted his legs wider, took another dragging breath and hissed when Hannibal cupped him, thumb rubbing from base to tip in a long, slow stroke.

When Will fretfully wriggled, Hannibal said to him, “Don’t tense, Will.”

“ _Kinda hard not to_ ,” he said, sour, but tried, shuddering as it notched higher, another groan breaking out of him when Hannibal got back to work on his head. It was the head Will _preferred_ he fuck with, if he was going to, because at least he’d get an orgasm out of it...eventually.

The raspy, soft tenor of his moans started gaining intensity, blending into a white noise of frustrated arousal. The touch on his cock shifted when Hannibal did, sliding up tighter between Will’s knees, the warm and silky-slick girth of his cock pressing in easily, thanks to his exhaustive ministrations earlier.

Will’s breath caught as Hannibal settled balls-deep inside of him and said with a half-sobbed laugh, “We’ve got to talk about these marathon sex sessions, Hannibal.”

“What about them?” Hannibal purred, hitching Will’s thighs up around his hips where Will locked them, heart pounding and body eager.

The uncomfortable intrusion became something else, like it always did, something that made his belly tighten and his body pulse responsively. The first time had been a comedy of errors but not anymore. Practice makes perfect.

Hannibal leaned up over Will, who curled beneath him, breathless and irritated and wanting relief.

“Do you have plans tomorrow?” Hannibal inquired, as if the late hour was the problem. He tested the new position with a soft push of his hips and Will bit his lip, his cock dribbling onto his belly. “Or perhaps you’re tired after your long day of napping and swimming?”

“Don’t be an asshole,” Will warned him, the words panting and amused. He thrashed hard with a cry when Hannibal took him in hand again, lights bursting across his wide eyes, obscuring the faint shadow of the man over him. “ _Jesus, what’re you trying to prove_?”

Hannibal purred, starting a slow, steady pace that slid Will through his fingers, dangerously pulsing and slick.

“Perhaps,” he whispered, stretching up to trace Will’s parted lips with his fingers. “I should have bought you a muzzle.”

And that was when Hannibal got him, damn him.

His fingers trailed lower, finding the chain and wrapping it taut so that Will felt it bite softly into his flesh just as Hannibal told him, “But a collar truly suits you, beautiful boy.”

And that was that. Just that fast he shuddered into climax, hips arching and body squeezing, arms outflung and fingers clenched in the bedding as his world narrowed to one exquisite sensation of absolute boneless bliss that drew out until he couldn’t bear it.

“I’m not wearing that thing,” he groaned when he could finally form sentences again, reaching up to drag Hannibal down atop him, a soothing weight like an anchor to keep him from slipping away. He tightened his thighs and tipped his hips, open and yielding and delighting in the man arching into him. He bit Hannibal’s shoulder and said with less certainty, “I’m _not_ wearing that thing.”

Hannibal chuckled and let go of the chain, choosing to kiss him to still his breathless sounds and irate complaints until he, too, finally found that endless moment of complete euphoria.


End file.
